A Night in the Castle
by Morganperidot
Summary: This is a Mary and Francis story that occurs after Season 2 episode 19, "Abandoned".
1. Chapter 1

A Night in the Castle

By Morganperidot

Mary, Queen of Scotland and France, was lying on her bed in the darkness of her chambers, alone. She was wrapped in blankets, because despite the warm night air, she felt a chill. She told herself it was the loss of her lover, Louis de Bourbon, Prince of Conde, that troubled her. Staring at the castle ceiling she wondered if perhaps there was a way that she could still go to him and tell him that she understood and forgave him for the wedding with Elizabeth's proxy. After all she had asked him to settle for being nothing more than her illicit paramour in a hostile French castle when she had promised him much more in Scotland. There must be a way that she could go to him…

Mary sighed. She pushed the blankets aside and dressed in the darkness. She knew that was foolishness. She could not go to Conde. He was already in too much danger, and aside from that, she knew that what they had shared was over. She had known it in her head if not her heart from the moment she had learned of the illness that had befallen Francis. She had clung to Conde still, defiantly, because he had given her back her piece of mind – and because she had not wanted to be alone.

Mary slipped on a pair of soft, flat shoes and tied her hair back in a simple ponytail before wrapping herself in a dark cloak and heading to the door. She would get some air and try to settle her thoughts. If nothing else, that would pass the time better than lying awake in this room.

Or she could go to Francis.

Her own thought of Francis surprised her. Mary opened the door and shut it quietly behind her, then nodded to the guards in the hall and walked past them. She knew Francis would not receive her well. After all, she had betrayed him personally and betrayed his country in way that could not be mended.

And yet, her husband's love had been strong once, so strong that she had felt it coursing through him each time he touched her. It had been so strong that she had been able to use it against him like a weapon, driving the sharpened edge of her own self-righteous anger into his heart until it bled out all of the feelings he had ever had for her.

Lost in thought, Mary found that her path had led her straight to the door to Francis's chambers. Though they tried to hide it, the King's guards seemed surprised to see her there. Mary told herself to keep walking, out to the night air, out where she could loosen the tightness that had formed in her chest as she had neared that door. But as she stood there before it, she could not help remembering how many times she had opened that door and seen Francis turn and smile, take her in his arms, kiss her, and whisper his love in her ear.

No matter what she had thought of Conde's touch and his kiss – and there was no doubt that she had enjoyed them and appreciated them – it was still true that no kisses had ever been as sweet as the ones she had shared with Francis, and no touch had ever been as tender as his fingertips on her skin. She took a step toward the door and told herself no, what is shattered cannot be fixed, not ever, it is gone and over and…still she reached for the door and pushed it open, not entirely sure why or what possible positive outcome she could hope to find in doing so. She stepped inside and closed the door behind her. There was no sound in the room but Francis's steady breathing, a sound that no longer tormented her as it had soon after she had been assaulted. She took off her cloak and laid it on a chair and slid off her shoes. She moved closer quietly and saw his form on the bed, his golden hair on the pillow muted by the darkness. She walked to the bed.

Francis stirred. "Who is there?" he asked.

"Your wife," Mary said.

"I have no wife, only a queen," he said. He spoke flatly and evenly, but the very lack of emotion in his words struck her like a dagger. Mary stepped away from the bed, and she might have left entirely if he had not spoken again. "Why are you here?" he asked.

Mary was not entirely sure of the answer. "I wanted…to see you," she said.

Francis sat up. "In my chambers in the middle of the night," he said. There was a moment of silence between them and then he added, "Do you think that because his bed is no longer available to you that you can come to mine?"

"I did not…"

"I am not your lover, Mary," Francis said darkly. "You threw him away for the crown."

"I came back because you were ill…"

"And that illness allowed you the opportunity to usurp my throne and use it as a way to protect your own," Francis said. "You have had no use for me personally for quite some time, and now you sneak into my room and think to take pleasure of me to replace…"

"Pleasure," Mary returned tartly. "You have been no pleasure."

"And you?" Francis said. "What have you been? Mistress of the Prince of Conde, a treacherous, treasonous slut…"

"You cannot speak to me that way," Mary said.

"I am the King," Francis said. "I will speak as I wish."

"You are my husband," Mary said.

"Only because I could not end that without ending you," Francis said.

Mary's anger surged. "Then why not do just that?" she returned with her own fire. She took a step toward the bed. "Why not expose my treachery to all of France? Why not have me jailed and beheaded. Why not free yourself, Francis? You are King. It is within your power to do so. Why continue this farce of a marriage at all?"

Francis looked away. "Get out of here," he snarled.

"Answer me, and I will go," Mary said.

Francis looked back at her. "You know that I made a promise to your country…"

"And I made a promise to you and yours," Mary said, "one that I broke. You know that is not an answer. You could be rid of me for good and all…"

Francis threw the blankets aside and walked around the bed to her. "Am I not broken enough for you?" he asked with quiet but brutal fierceness. "You have torn out my heart and thrown it in my face. You have shamed me in front of the entire court. You have stood beside me every day pining for your lover. And now you come to my bed and taunt me because I cannot have you killed?"

They stood together there for a moment, so close that Mary could reach out to him and touch him without taking another step. She did not, but he did not move away from her either. She sensed an opening and a possibility, and she knew she did not have the time to decide whether it would be a good idea to seize them. "I did not come here because I did not have him," she said. "I came here because I did not have you." She closed the space between them, put her hands on his face, and brought her lips to his for a moment of soft, warm tenderness…before he stepped back.

"You are more cruel than I ever imagined," Francis said softly. "Can you hate me so much that you would do this?"

"I do not hate you…"

"Blame me then for…"

"I do not blame you," Mary said, "not anymore. I have not come here to punish you…"

"You pushed me away, you told me to take lovers, you took one yourself…"

"Francis," Mary said, but she let the silence descend between them.

Finally, he said, "Leave."

"No," Mary said. She had made her decision. "I am your wife and your queen," she said, "and I wish to stay. Do not send me away unless you are certain that is what you truly wish."

"I cannot be your second choice," Francis said. "I cannot be the one you take because you cannot have him."

"I took him because I could not be with you," Mary said. "And I planned to run away with him because I thought there would never be another moment when I longed for your touch and your kiss they way I had…the way I do now."

"If this is because of him…"

"Let me show you that it is not," Mary said. She walked to him and took his hand in hers. She drew him over to the bed, and lying down she drew him to her. Looking into her eyes he hesitated a moment longer and then kissed her, firmly and deeply and well, and all of the pain between them fell away as they came back together.


	2. Chapter 2

A Night in the Castle: The Next Day

By Morganperidot

1.

When Francis woke, he found himself alone on his bed. He was disappointed that Mary was gone, but he was not surprised. Although they had discussed the issues that they could not speak of in the daylight hours and that had led to an abundance of shared pleasure that had left him well and truly satisfied the rift between them was not entirely mended.

What had transpired that night did, however, show that the rift could be repaired, which was something Francis had thought impossible once Mary had taken up with Conde. Francis had given up hope that he and his queen would ever be together again as husband and wife, and now he knew that was at least possible. Beyond that, he knew that she still cared for him, which was perhaps the most surprising, but he had felt it in her touch and her kiss, the certain truth of it. He believed that she still loved him, as he did her, but whether that was enough to work through all the rest of their troubles, he did not know.

Francis dressed in a blue tunic over brown trousers and left his chambers. He usually took his morning meal at his desk as he went over news or missives that came in the night and early morning; he did not plan to vary from that this day. However, when he arrived at his desk there was no food waiting for him, as there usually was. He thought to send one of the guards to the kitchen, as hunger was growling in his belly, but he set that aside and took his chair behind the desk instead. He began to look through the pile of papers there when he heard quiet footsteps approaching. He looked up and saw one of the young kitchen servant girls carrying a large platter heaping with food, at least four times what he usually ate.

"Forgive me for interrupting, Your Highness," the girl said, barely balancing what must have been a heavy load. Francis stood and moved around the desk to help her, but she managed to rest the tray on one of the room's small tables, where it covered most of the top surface.

"What is all this?" Francis asked, staring at the piles of bread, cheese, fruit, and other foods.

"The Queen said she would be breaking fast with Your Highness with morning, and –"

"Thank you, Lucie, that will be all," Mary said, walking into the room as the girl nodded and headed out, closing the door behind her.

Francis turned his gaze to Mary as she walked over toward him with a gold goblet in each of her hands. She wore a gown of blue so dark it looked black until she was close enough for him to note the true color of it. She held out the goblet in her right hand, and Francis accepted it. He looked at the dark liquid inside and then lifted the goblet to inhale its aroma. Sweet wine, he thought. It was a bit early in the day, but he had no desire to set it aside. He took a sip of its warmth. "Thank you," he said.

Mary took a chair near the food. "Come have something to eat," she said.

"Are we expecting others?" Francis asked.

Mary smiled. "I thought you might wake with a healthy appetite," she said.

A slight smile softened his lips as Francis thought about the evening's activities. "My appetite is strong, but I think perhaps not as strong as all of this," he said, waving at the piles of food. He walked over to another chair near the food and plucked some fruit from the top of the pile before settling down. He saw Mary watch him wordlessly as she sipped her own wine. He felt the pull of the attraction between them in a way that he hadn't in a long time. But in the light of day that attraction seemed strange, more out of place than it had in the quiet darkness of his chambers.

"There is a reception tonight," Mary said. "The duke of…"

"Yes," Francis said. "I have to make an appearance."

"I would like to be at your side," Mary said.

"I have never stood in the way of you performing your duties as queen," Francis said.

"I wish to be at your side as your wife," Mary said.

"I never wished that to be otherwise," Francis said. He leaned back in the chair before adding, "You are the one who put another before me."

"Francis, I…"

There was pounding on the door, and then it swung open. "Your highnesses!" Bash bellowed to announce his arrival and that of several of the king's guard. Francis stood and pushed the painful emotions that had risen in his heart aside. "There is news of the Prince of Conde," Bash said. Francis glanced at Mary and saw the pale pallor of her face.

"What news?" Francis asked.

"He has been captured, Your Highness," one of the guards said, "dressed as a peasant, trying to pass through a check point. He is being brought to the castle this moment."

"Thank you," Francis said. He looked at Bash. "Let me know when he is here. I will see him in the throne room."

"As you wish, Your Highness," Bash said, with a smile, and he led the guards from the room.

Francis walked over to his desk and stood there with his back to Mary. He didn't want to see more of her reaction to the word of her lover's capture. "You need not be there," Francis said.

"When you sentence him to death," Mary said.

Francis closed his eyes. "He is a traitor to France," he said. "He must die."

"You are certain that is the reason," Mary said.

Francis's anger surged, and he turned. "I am king," he said. "I will make my decisions based on the rules of law. The queen who was his undoing in this was Elizabeth, not you. I am well aware of the difference between his treason against my country and his intimacies with my wife."

Mary stood. "I will be there," she said.

"As you choose," Francis said. He didn't look as Mary walked from the room. Instead he gazed into the goblet he held for a moment and then pitched it hard at the wall, where it hit with a bang before falling to the floor.

2.

"His Highness King Francis and Her Highness Queen Mary," the throne room guard announced.

Francis walked to his throne without looking at Mary; they had not spoken since exchanging words about Conde's sentence, and Francis still fumed about what she had said. He had no difficulty separating the political from the personal – even when the two overlapped. He sat on the throne and felt Mary sit beside him. After a moment he said, "Bring in the prisoner."

Conde was brought in by two guards, one holding each arm. Francis knew it was overkill; after all, where would the man run to if not held? But he saw the point of it a moment later when the guards threw Conde to floor in front of him to the gasp of the assembled court. Despite being a traitor, Conde was a prince, and Francis knew better than to dismiss decorum. "Bring him to his feet and let him stand on his own," Francis told the guards. As they did so, Francis noted the prisoner's worn appearance, both in his clothes and his face. Francis remembered how he had thought at one time that the two of them might be allies. At that time, he would have never imagined how events would unfold.

"You are charged with high treason and conspiring with the enemy," Francis said. "How do you respond?"

"I have done nothing of the sort, your highness," Conde said clearly.

Francis was a bit surprised but not entirely. There was really no hard evidence in the matter. "How do you respond to those witnesses who spoke of seeing you with Elizabeth's proxy?" he asked.

"It could not be, as I did not meet with such a person," Conde said.

For a moment there was silence, and then Mary spoke. "This is not what you told me when we met alone," she said. There was another gasp, and Francis looked at Mary. She didn't meet his gaze; she just looked steadily at Conde. Francis did not look at Conde; he didn't need to see the man's surprise, as Francis felt it himself. "You told me clearly that you wed Elizabeth via her proxy, and the documentation was destroyed," Mary continued.

"Mary…"

Francis cut off whatever Conde had thought to say. "The Queen has confirmed confession of guilt," he said, "to which end the punishment must be declared as final: death at sunrise."

"Your Highness, I…"

"Take him away," Francis said.

As the guards took him out, Conde shouted out, "Mary!"

Mary did not respond, and Francis did not look at her. All he could think of was the coldness of her stare as she spoke against her lover. Francis called over one of the guards. "Empty the hall," he said. The buzz of discussion among the court was loud enough to travel to the thrones, and Francis did not wish to hear what was being said. When the hall was cleared, Mary stood and walked out of the room. Francis watched her go, still stunned by what she had done.

3.

Francis found Mary in her chambers. She wasn't alone; there were a number of female servants doing what Francis could assume was packing her possessions. "Leave us," Francis said. When they were gone he closed the door.

"I thought it best I return to Scotland," Mary said.

"Without even discussing it with me," Francis said.

"It seems that I do nothing but trouble you," Mary said. "I had thought last night that we reconnected, but clearly that was only physically so."

Francis was silent for a moment. "This is as you wish?" he asked quietly.

"No, but you…"

"I am not going anywhere," Francis said. "I am here."

Mary turned and stepped closer and took his hands in hers. "Francis," she said softly. "I do not wish to hurt you more than I already have."

"Then do not do so," Francis said. He stepped toward her and slid his hands around her waist to her lower back. He closed his eyes and kissed her cheek gently, then moved his lips to the curve of her neck. There was tenseness between them that hadn't been present in the darkness, and Francis found himself remembering the rejections of his advances that had come after she was attacked. Part of him wanted to withdraw before another such rejection was received, but he could not. He would not, unless she told him to stop. Instead he pressed his body to hers and continued to kiss her, and when he felt her hands slide into his hair, he felt pure joy in a way he had thought he never would again. "I love you," he said.

Mary moved her hands on his face. "I love you," she said, and they kissed deeply.

4.

Later, lying together in bed, Francis sighed. Mary raised her head from his chest and looked into his eyes. "Is something wrong?" she asked. Francis looked at the ceiling for a moment but didn't speak. "Francis, tell me," Mary said.

"I will in a moment," Francis said, he looked at her and then he kissed her.

"You try to distract me," Mary said.

"I do," Francis said. "I wish…" But he knew his wishes were spent. "There is something you must know," he said.

"If it is about when we were apart, you need not tell me," Mary said. "There is nothing for which I would blame you when I was the one who told you to…"

"It is not that," Francis said. He sat up and winced at the twinge of pain that came with the movement. The time that Nostradamus's remedies lasted seemed to be consistently shorter each time.

Mary sat up as well and the smile fell away from her lips. "Tell me," she said.

"The illness I had," Francis said. He looked away. "I survived it, that is true, but…"

"No," Mary said. "You are well. You are. Francis, say it."

"I wish that I could, but it is not so," Francis said. "I've been taking herb remedies, and they have helped some. But there is still pain, and I am…" He lived with the word, but there with her he could not say it aloud. He simply could not. He looked at her and saw the way her eyes glistened with tears. "I should have told you this before," he said. "I should have let you go to Scotland…"

"This is not so," Mary said. "It cannot be."

"You know the prophecy," Francis said, "that I would die young. You cannot think that would just disappear."

"The prophecy be damned," Mary said. "This is not how things will be."

Francis reached out to her, but the pain in her eyes had already turned to fire. "You must accept this," he said. "There is nothing…"

"No, I must accept nothing," Mary said. "I am queen, and there will be a way to heal you." He opened his mouth to calm her, but she continued before he could speak. "I will find that way," she said. "You know me, Francis, and I know you," she said. "We are both strong, in mind and in body."

"Mary, I am not…"

"You are not to surrender, Francis," Mary said. "You are king, and you will live."

"If your will were enough to make it so, I would believe that to be true," Francis said.

"You will see that it is," Mary said.

Francis saw her determination, and he let his side of the argument go. "We have that reception tonight," he said. "If you would still go to it, we should dress."

Mary touched his cheek and moved close to kiss him. She touched his face gently with her fingertips and then moved her fingers to his chest where his heart beat steadily. She looked in his eyes, and he felt her love like a steady ray of light. If only, he thought. With her beside him, he could almost believe there was a way.


End file.
